


I will impress you

by ABigWhiteWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABigWhiteWolf/pseuds/ABigWhiteWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unusual case forces Sherlock and John to make unusual decisions. However, they are not alone in this adventure; a rather playful investigator offered her helping hand. Together they might crack this puzzle and catch the mysterious villain.</p><p>How will John cope with the new female friend, suddenly taking up too much space in 221B? And what does Sherlock have to say about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change of plans

“This is it then... We’re here. Umm, are you definitely sure that this is the place we’re looking for? It doesn’t look very… posh.”  
John and Sherlock were standing in front of an old large rusty building resembling an abandoned warehouse or a big garage. It was only single-storied, but the full extent of the whole building would easily take up the proportions of a medium sized car park. The house was covered with sheet iron and had several entrances for cars alongside its wall, secured with massive padlocks.  
“Absolutely. See the iron walls? They are rusty, yes? But look at the rivets,” Sherlock stepped closer to the building and rubbed his glove against one of the rivets, “– shiny as they’ve been bought two days ago, without a single spot of rust – or even dust. Then there’s the silence.”  
“Silence?”  
“Yes. Too much of it. Where are the homeless people? Squatters? Vagrants?”  
“Surely it’s not easy to get in, look at the locks!” exclaimed John, still stood farther away from the building, pointed out at the car entryways.  
“Exactly, look at it.”  
What before appeared to be a row of three or four locked gates, now at a closer look turned out just to be iron painted with a slightly different shade to the rest of the wall. The padlocks were still there, but technically they hadn’t been locking anything. Instead they just were hanging on small pegs attached to the wall.  
“Oh.” Why hadn’t John noticed this before? Well, it was dark after all, that’s why.  
“It appears abandoned, but it isn’t. Otherwise we would certainly run across a few very grumpy individuals. No, they keep this place secured. The walls are rusty, but that’s just coverage. I’m ninety percent sure that behind those iron sheets there are massive walls blocking all the noise. However there’s still one thing that they weren’t able to conceal.”  
Sherlock put his right ear on the cold surface of the iron. “The vibrations.”  
John carefully leaned against the wall with his hands, and then slowly placed his left ear on the sheet iron. The shakes were there, barely noticeable for John, but for Sherlock easily perceivable. They stood like this for a few moments, heads glued to the wall, smiling slightly under the sensation of the petit shudders.  
“But how do we get in?” John asked. “They probably won’t let us pass through the main entrance, we’re looking too…normal.”  
Sherlock quickly looked around and then swiftly headed off for the corner of the building. “There should be a back door…They must keep the bins somewhere, mustn’t they?”  
“Oh okay then…” John glanced around both ways and followed Sherlock briskly.

It was only two weeks ago, when the consulting duo first heard about this case. John couldn’t speak for Sherlock, but as far as he could remember, never in their joined history had there been a case involving group of middle-aged and slightly older women, each of them looking for their very own precious thing, yet all of them were connected by fear and worries in their searching. Those ten women had a simple request. They wanted their daughters back. And so Sherlock and John went looking for them.

They were now standing in front of three poorly lit big metal waste containers filled with plastic bags, some of which, unable to fit into the containers, were lying on the ground. Sherlock randomly opened one of the bags. Food scraps, broken glass, plastic bottles. Nothing of a greater significance. There was a strange smell though, coming from the bins, and Sherlock was determined to find the source of it. Just as he was about to raise the lid and open one of the containers, John grabbed his shoulder.  
“Hey Sherlock, can you hear that?” They both froze for a moment, listening carefully.  
“Footsteps! God someone’s coming!” John immediately started looking around, furiously turning his head, thinking of a place to hide or a way to escape. Then Sherlock said in a seemingly calm voice: “Quick. Take your clothes off.”  
John stopped scuttling around and quickly rubbed his face. He took a deep breath and gave Sherlock his best what-exactly-did-you-forget-to-tell-me-about-your-plan-this-time look. “What?!”  
“There’s nowhere to hide, John! We have to act now! Take your clothes off, everything except the underwear.”  
“But it’s freezing!” John didn’t even stop to think why this was the only problem he had with Sherlock’s request. Maybe he was getting used to his sudden changes of plans after all. Although he suspected that those alleged ‘changes’ were planned long hours before they even left the flat. Such as this one.  
“Oh for God sake, would you just shut up and do what I say!” Sherlock swiftly approached John and started undoing his belt.  
“Fine, fine! I’m doing it, I’m doing it! No need to strip me off my trousers, for heaven’s sake.” John whispered angrily. They hid behind one of the containers, big enough to cover both of them.  
“Don’t forget the shoes. Hurry! They’re almost here.” Sherlock was peering from behind the container. He could see the figures approaching the exact spot of their hideout. For a brief moment Sherlock thought that he could see a very familiar figure walking in the dark. A person he thought would never cross his path again. He blinked fiercely. No, it wasn’t her.  
“They?”  
“Yes, a woman and three or four other men. Give me your clothes, quick!” John, hesitating, handed Sherlock a crumpled ball of his clothes with his shoes on the top.  
“What..what are you doing? No wait!” John could only stand idly by, watching Sherlock throwing his possessions into the container which he earlier wanted to examine. “Why did you do that? Couldn’t you’ve just hid them behind the bins?? How I am supposed to put them on again?”  
“It’s possible you won’t need to, if you don’t finally shut up.” Sherlock quickly searched through his coat and jacket for two vital items he needed to fulfil his plan. “Give me your hands.” A clicking sound was heard.  
“Oh no no no no, Sherlock. What is this, what have you made up this time?” John stared at his handcuffed hands in disbelief. “I thought we’d pretend we’re just a weirdo drunk couple in a dark alley, why do you always have to make it so elaborate?”  
The footsteps were getting louder and closer to their hiding place.  
“Kneel.”  
John looked Sherlock directly in the eyes. There wasn’t a single hint of surprise or refusal in John’s face; the only thing that shone in his eyes was anger. Sherlock put his hand on John’s shoulder and gave it a strong painful press, forcing John to kneel. Once John’s knees hit the ground, Sherlock, not breaking the eye contact, attached the last essential object to John’s body. Without lowering himself on John’s level more than necessary, Sherlock tightly buckled John’s neck to a long leather leash. John didn’t say anything, but his opinion on this action was being clearly showed in the expression of his face. You’re going to pay for this, said his face. You’re going to pay for this and I won’t be even sorry.

Sherlock took a deep breath and stepped out from behind their hiding place. He faced the incomers with the leash in his hand and determination in his eyes.


	2. The Encounter

At first, the case didn’t seem to be worth Sherlock’s attention. Ten abducted or perhaps runaway daughters, without an obvious connection amongst them. Sherlock found it boring. But eventually, all it took to convince him was a simple statement made by one of the mothers. “Detective Inspector Lestrade says they’re doing all they can to find them, but it is clear that they have nothing! It’s really plain to see! The desperation is written all over his face!” All women were nodding in agreement. Then one of them continued: “Yesterday, I overheard a conversation with his colleague. He told him, ‘Look, we have to do this on our own; we have to prove to those people that we are still able to do our job properly. The last thing we need is certain Mr. Holmes hopping around and clapping his hands like a little tyke!’. That’s exactly what he said! I told the rest of our group about it. We wondered who that Mr. Holmes might be, and we found your website.”   
Seeing Sherlock’s expression the moment the woman mentioned what Lestrade said about him, made John smile. Sherlock looked at him angrily, puckering his brows, wrinkling his nose, forming his lips into a tight line. Honestly, Sherlock’s face only tempted John to smile more, but he knew he would have to deal with especially annoying experiments and frenzied violin playing at two in the morning if he did that. Thus he chose a much safer way – he coughed, frowned and shook his head, trying to look like the horrible things Lestrade had said about the consulting detective seriously bothered him.

Sherlock didn’t want to admit it out loud, but he took the case mainly because of the fact Lestrade didn’t inform him about it and about the ongoing investigation, and that irritated him immensely. He was determined to prove to Lestrade that even if ten years had passed, the whole Scotland Yard would still be looking for the girls.  
“So you’ll take the case then?” John asked when they were alone in the flat again.  
“Yes.” Sherlock said, sounding resolved.   
“Has it occurred to you that there might be a reason for Lestrade not telling you about that case? That he might have a particular reason for not wanting you to interfere?”   
“I don’t interfere with anything, John. I’m doing my own investigation.” Having said that, Sherlock put on his coat and with his scarf in his hand headed for the door.  
“The Olympics don't start for a year, you know."  
“What?” Sherlock stopped with his hand on the doorknob.  
“Don’t make it into competition, Sherlock. It’s not worth it.”  
Sherlock smirked and rushed off outside. 

 

It certainly was a competition. A race. But while Lestrade had his lane clear, Sherlock had to deal with hurdles. He had to face a group of five people in total. Two men of sturdy build dressed in black suits at the front of the gang, two other men equally robust standing at the back. Right in the middle of this human square there was a woman. She was wearing a pair of very elegant high-heeled shoes of white colour with a pattern of little blossoms made of black lace. The soles were blood red. Her legs were long and lean and she had no intention to cover them with more fabric than was necessary. Her dress was also white and emphasized every inch of her body. The sleeves were covering just her shoulders and the only thing that could get your eyes off her very distractive plunging neckline was a crimson coloured belt underlying her slender waist. Her face was dominated by a pair of deep brown eyes gleaming with the reflection of the stars. Like a crown placed on the woman’s head was her black hair, plaited into complicated shapes, making her look like an ancient goddess. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” said one of the men while he was fishing a gun from the insides of his jacket.   
“I’m a trader.” Sherlock put into his voice a maximum level of confidence and mysteriousness, making him sound properly dramatic and enigmatic. Then, uncertain if the message has been correctly delivered into the heads of the woman’s escort, he added: “I’ve come to trade.”  
“Who is he?” asked the man standing on the left, pointing his gun at John. The doctor was kneeling on the rough surface of the road and although he was trembling with cold, inside his body was burning with anger.  
“Got into debts, poor chap. He thought he would handle it, he thought he would make it, but that was just his wishful thinking”. Sherlock patted John’s shoulder, shook his head and sighed.   
“He said he’d do anything to give me what I want. So I’ve taken him here. I’m giving him a one last chance. He’s got one week to earn the money he owns me. He’d better hurry up; a week is not really a long time, is it? But I’m sure he’ll be alright. Fifteen, twenty excited and passionate customers a day and he’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” With the last sentence, Sherlock playfully ruffled John’s hair.   
“But what were you doing here?” The guards had a lot of questions. Luckily, Sherlock had just the right answers.  
“You see, I’m not a cruel man. In fact, I really care about my people. I can only imagine how hard this profession must be, so I wanted to...encourage him.” He crouched down, took John’s face in his hand, and turned it so that he could face him. “If you hadn’t been so rude and barged in on us, he would have already paid a significant part of his debt. Pity.” Constantly gazing into John’s eyes, Sherlock ran his thumb over John’s lips and chin. Although it made John blush, it was clear from the way he glared back to Sherlock that he was more than angry with his actions.   
There was a brief moment of silence before the guard caught the attention again. “Why didn’t you take him inside?”  
Sherlock, still holding John’s chin in his slender hand, uttered: “I like it rough.”  
 _Rough? Rough?! I’ll give you rough; just wait for the moment we get back home. I’ll cram a chair into your arse, with a smile!_ Sherlock then withdrew his gaze from John’s face and looked at the mysterious woman, who hadn’t said a word so far throughout their encounter.  
“Do you like it rough, Miss..?” Sherlock asked with raised eyebrow.  
“Salome.” The woman finally spoke. Her voice was deep and soft, her tone seductive and alluring.   
“You must be new then.” She had an American accent.   
Sherlock smiled and nodded. “I’ve only started broadening my horizons in this field, yes. I deeply apologize for my ignorance.” He was now standing again, assuming a pose he hoped made him look like a bored, spoiled billionaire kid clever enough to threat and harm people, but only with his daddy behind his back. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and wished that the intruders would finally think of him as of harmless brat.   
Miss Salome touched a shoulder of the bodyguard standing on the right from her, giving him a sign to move aside and let her pass. As she was approaching the two men, the sound of her footsteps echoed loudly in the night. She looked at John in a way which felt like she was scrutinizing every inch of his body, examining him with her eyes. Her look was so intense, that John had to turn his head away, breaking the eye contact. “Take him back where you found him. He’s not ready for this job; our customers enjoy confident people, well versed in what they do. This one needs to be trained first.”   
“I might well do that.” Sherlock added with a sly smile.   
Salome looked at John for the last time, and for a short moment it seemed like a hint of compassion crossed her expression. Then she turned around and headed the opposite way, immediately followed and surrounded by her bodyguards, who formed a perfect defence line. “Come on guys, we’ll have to come back later.”

Sherlock watched them slowly disappearing in the dark.   
“Excellent, Sherlock, really. Quite superb!” John gave out a loud sigh. “This was the last time you kept me uninformed, do you understand?”   
“Shush! They’re still in the earshot.”  
“I don’t...I don’t even care, Sherlock. Just give me back my clothes, get me out of this weirdo stuff of which I’m sure you just magically happened to bring with yourself, and let’s go home.”  
Sherlock bent down and started unbuckling the leash around John’s neck. He was fighting an urge to start laughing, because the sight of John was simply spectacular. But Sherlock knew that for whatever reason John would find this action very inappropriate. Suddenly John’s expression’s turned from angry to I-think-we’re-in-big-trouble-now, as he looked somewhere behind Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sherlock, stop. Stop undoing me. She’s coming back.”  
Sherlock turned his head towards the sound of clacking heels.   
“Actually, you know what?” said the woman. “I think I’ll take him after all. He’ll be in good company with me. I’ll teach him just the right stuff.”  
Sherlock quickly stood between her and John, adopting a defensive posture that was maybe too much conspicuous.   
“I would prefer to discuss this matter with the head of this company, if you don’t mind. If I’m really going to hand over this person to this corporation, I’d like to meet your boss first.”  
“Lucky you!” Salome clapped her hands. “You’re talking to her! I am the boss of this company.”   
“Oh.” Sherlock was left speechless; the only thing he managed to do was furious blinking and confused frowning.  
“Here’s my card.” Salome handed Sherlock a small red piece of paper, simply decorated. Then she took the leash out of Sherlock’s hand and smiling nodded at John, inviting him to get up on his feet and go with her. John didn’t know what to do. He looked at Sherlock, his mouth agape with shock. But Sherlock didn’t say anything. Nor he did anything to prevent John being dragged away. Instead he looked at John and shaking his head, grabbed John’s elbow to get him back on feet. He gave a sigh resembling a proud parent seeing his child leaving to school for the first day. John couldn’t do anything but stare in disbelief as Sherlock patted his shoulder and pushed him forward, leaving him completely at the mercy of the woman.  
“Phone me the details about the terms of payment.” Salome exclaimed with her back already turned to Sherlock, leading with John into the dark alley.   
“I’ll be in touch.” Sherlock assured her.  
“And I’m very much looking forward to it.”

The only thing that John could think about as he was walking closely behind Salome’s back was that Sherlock knows what he’s doing. _He has a plan. He definitely has a plan. Yes. He’ll march into that building, kick everyone’s arses and get me out of here. Yes. That’s a good plan._  
Sherlock was standing still, hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the figures disappearing in the dim light. _I need a plan._

 

“Be quiet, follow my lead, and you won’t get hurt.” Salome said to John, as they were entering the very heart of the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Rose for her brilliant corrections ^^
> 
> I hope you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rose for the corrections. Bless you.
> 
> In this fanfic, the relationship between John and Sherlock is questionable. I'll leave you to your deductions.


End file.
